


Queens and Knights

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Series: Queens-&-Knights 'verse [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-04
Updated: 2004-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I do not let myself dwell on why the white-haired one captures all my attention, why my body heats up at the sight of him, why I feel this sudden compulsion to touch myself." Set during my story 'The Vamp In Question'. Illyria POV, with Spike/Illyria themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queens and Knights

If there is one thing I have learned about this new human world, it is that everything is extraordinarily dull. Events of interest occur at random, neither provoked nor anticipated, and mortals flock to them in droves, intent on the latest ‘gossip’. Perhaps I should feel disgust that I, too, walk alongside the herd, but it truly seems the only remedy for this meager existence.

As a result, it was only a matter of time before I noticed the crowd in the hallway, heard the cries from behind the closed door.

“Christ, she’s killing him,” one of the accountants whispers.

“What a way to die, though,” another winks.

The blonde female half-breed who provides cups of exsanguinated otter rolls her eyes. “Hello? They’re obviously not fighting in there!” she exclaims. “Can’t you recognize kinky, pervy vamp/slayer sex when you hear it?”

The crowd itself had been more intriguing than the event they discussed prior to that statement. But some part of me, undoubtedly a side effect of my essence and majesty being ripped from my body, finds these words intriguing, compelling, and perhaps slightly…disappointing?

“Elaborate.” The word comes from my lips without prior thought, my tone surprisingly angry. Absurd. Why should the latest human squabble interest me? Although sight, smell, and sound tell me all too well that a human is not the center of the event within.

The female half-breed, apparently eager to spread her news, responds in her typical cheerful manner. “ _Buffy’s_ back in town,” she makes a disgusted face. “Which, of course, means that Spike totally starts drooling all over her, and they run off to have sex in the conference room. Rude much? Have these people _ever_ heard of a motel?”

A word I have never used before. Its definition is clear within the memories and endless bound manuscripts I have absorbed, however. “A roadside commercial establishment offering lodging to transients.”

“Uh...yeah.” The female half-breed gives me that look as if she wishes she could act as though she were my better, yet fears any reprisal. For now, I can live with that. Fear without worship is a sad second to the glory I once possessed, but it will do. But the lower being has provided me with the information I sought, so perhaps I should not mark her punishment just yet.

And the knowledge, strangely, stirs these alien emotions in me even more. My pet is copulating with a woman – a ‘Slayer’, apparently. A part of me rages because such pleasures were so recently denied me. My other pet’s refusal to experiment still a bitter disappointment. It had occurred to me to try with my half-breed. Apparently, he’s found another in the interval.

Yes, disappointing, indeed, but not irreparable.

The fabric of existence in this world is so thin, so fragile. These mortal beings think that because I am not complete that I am on their plane. They little comprehend what it means to be Illyria, infinite even when finite. Or, at least, infinite enough to slip through the boundaries of conventional space, to see without being seen. Trivial to pass through walls of wood, metal, and plaster. Simpler still to observe the mating pair unobserved, to circle the table upon which they fornicate and watch.

Such an oddly beautiful and compelling image they make, the insolent half-breed’s flesh bared entirely before me, his face a mask of agony and anguish, his form undulating to a primal rhythm, one so deep and fundamental that I had not thought such minor beings could feel it. And even a god cannot help but be moved by this half-breed’s magnificence, his passion. Oh, he is far beneath me, but that is half the pull, the thrill, the sensation…

My pet moves so deeply, so surely, and my human body cannot help but react. This shell may be limited, but my will still can control it, banish its outer coverings, leave myself as bare as the half-breed I watch. Unable to sense me, he continues to move within the woman he has chosen. I move closer, trace transcendent fingers along his spine. He shivers, but knows not from what. With him and yet other, and even his half-breed senses cannot detect me.

This ‘Slayer’ he feels such devotion for interests me little. I do not let myself dwell on why the white-haired one captures all my attention, why my body heats up at the sight of him, why I feel this sudden compulsion to touch myself.

These fingers of mine are fascinating things. I have studied them for hours at a time. Now, they react from memory, guiding me in the proper response to such a vision as the one before me. A small, damp opening between my thighs, the source of mortal pleasure and the new experiences I have been seeking as of late. Tentatively, I slip inside, unsure of what to expect. Hidden nerve endings within this body flare to life, and in my limited form they are quite…satisfactory. Yes, I will study this form of pleasure, and my pet will teach me even though he realizes it not.

I study the motion of his hips, like the rhythmic rocking of waves, the tide of life, rebirth, and death. I am not surprised to discover that my fingers begin to move in time to his tides, entering the crevice of my body as the masculine protrusion between his legs plunges into the female. Nor am I surprised to find that obeying his primal rhythm brings even greater pleasure. The mortal woman moans and cries out, and I find myself echoing her.

We are all three at the whim of the pulsation of the universe in that moment. The sparks and showers of nerve endings rise in a dazzling cacophony, and not even my greatness can contain itself, can hold back, and…

“Spike!”

The scream is savage, raw, untamed. My own lips echo it as the bounds of mortality waver before my eyes, a tantalizing and awe-inspiring vision of my former might. I watch the barriers between worlds shatter; I watch my pet roar and howl in his completion, my own hand reaching through the dimensional veil that separates us to trail my fingers ever-so-slightly through his snow-crested hair. This last touch completes me with startling intensity, and I gasp at the power, shimmering back into reality for one second in a moment of pure abandonment.

How is it possible that an infinite being, seer of all, knower of time and space, transcendent of all planes and forever, is still unable to place words to that which I have just experienced? A part of me – the part I recognize of old – wishes to lay blame on this rudimentary human language. But I quickly see that for a lie. No words have ever been invented to describe the ecstasy of that perfect moment. I had thought being a god was the greatest pleasure in the universe; I was wrong.

My control snaps back into place far too soon and just soon enough. The latter because I snap out of mortal sight again before the half-breed or his consort detect me. The former because an eternity of such sensations could never be enough. And I envy the mortal woman in that moment, envy that she was permitted to know this male completely while I experienced him only secondhand. It occurs to me to order my pet to repeat his efforts upon myself, but some instinct deep within me knows that such compulsion would only result in failure. This was an act freely given and taken; any alternative would be a pale shadow.

The two mates prepare to leave at that, and I sigh, encasing my shell once more in my body armor. I have gleaned what pleasure I can for the moment.

And, with an air of sadness, I watch them go. Watching these mortals, I had dreamt of the ultimate fulfillment that evaded me, but now that I have caught a glimpse, these feelings consume me, demanding more.

And yet I, who have ruled all, am unable to fulfill them. I can see in this pet’s eyes that I would be refused. Already, the other has refused me. Ungrateful pets, foul for their disrespect. And yet I cannot fault them entirely. I think back millennia, to the knights of old. Not knights in the pedantic sense the previous occupant of this shell envisions. Deadly, bloodthirsty warriors. Driven only by the blazing fires within and subject to none and all. Oh, I took my fair share of them as pets, ruled over them as queen, but never truly owned them.

And, as my half-breed looks into the Slayer’s eyes, I see who his true queen is. The powers of gods bestowed upon mortals, and mortals defying gods. Truly, this plane is a realm of chaos. A realm in which my desires go unanswered, and my pet leaves with an inferior being.

And I, the queen, as always, stand alone.


End file.
